


thaw and freeze (my life's a breeze)

by DoctorSyntax



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Community: blindfold_spn, Established Relationship, F/F, Illicit Use of Kitchen Utensils, Rule 63, Sensory Deprivation, Temperature Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-24
Updated: 2012-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-31 16:05:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorSyntax/pseuds/DoctorSyntax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Always-a-cisgirl!Jensen/always-a-cisgirl!Jared kitchen sex PWP, for a prompt from round 6 of blindfold_spn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	thaw and freeze (my life's a breeze)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Iceberg" by the Trashcan Sinatras.

From the kitchen window Jensen can see JT where she's shoveling the driveway, clearing it of the last of the snow from yesterday's late-night snowstorm. The dogs are outside too, running around in the yard like it's the first time they'd ever seen snow—as if they hadn't lived in Vancouver for the past four years. JT'd been nice enough to let Jensen sleep in when she got up at the crack of dawn with the dogs, and for that Jensen's decided not to let the dishes in the sink grow any more mold.

JT glances at the house as she finishes, seeing Jensen at the window, and she smiles like the sunrise and blows her a kiss. Jensen rolls her eyes but waves back, unable to hold back her grin. Two years and JT still makes her feel like this, embarrassed but pleased at the way JT loves her out loud.

About a minute later Jensen hears the front door open and the dogs scamper inside. "Make sure you dry them off!" she calls, but either JT doesn't hear her or ignores her, because seconds later the dogs race into the kitchen, shedding snow everywhere and bumping their cold, wet noses against Jensen's bare legs. Jensen flicks water at them and they retreat into the living room. Laughing, she turns back to the sink.

In the window's reflection she can see JT sneaking up on her, hands outstretched like she's the goddamn swamp monster. Jensen grabs the spray hose next to the faucet and spins around, brandishing it like a gun. "Touch me and I will not hesitate to soak you head to toe, Padalecki," she deadpans, and JT starts to laugh, dropping her hands.

"The faucet's not even on," she points out.

Jensen shrugs. "I'll still waste you."

"Stuck in Dee's headspace, Jen? Come on, it's the weekend."

"Do you _really_ want me to turn on the faucet?"

"It's not my fault you're doing the dishes in a tank top and panties. Alllll that skin, just begging to be touched." 

"This is what I slept in, genius. Remember? You were there."

"Aww yeah, I remember," JT leers, taking a couple steps toward her; Jensen reaches behind herself to twist the cold water tap. Instantly JT throws her hand up in a gesture of surrender and she looks so contrite that Jensen relents and turns the water off.

Bad idea.

JT feints left and then grabs Jensen around the waist, twisting them both and pinning Jensen against the counter. Jensen's tank top rides up, the hard edge of formica digging into the small of her back.

"Fucking ow!" Jensen protests, smacking JT in the shoulder. "Stop being such a spaz."

JT just grins and shakes her head, and melting snow flies in every direction—including all over Jensen's face, and that is _it_. Drawing on all her strength, Jensen pushes JT away and manages to pin her against the closed door of their bedroom. She wedges a thigh between JT's, bare skin dragging against denim.

JT just laughs, because she's a crazy person. "Thanks for doing the dishes," she says, kissing Jensen on the tip of the nose. "You're such a good little housewife."

Jensen rolls her eyes. "Yeah, because _that's_ not demeaning in the slightest." But she cups JT's cheek and gives her a warm smile. "While we're on the subject, thanks for shoveling like a good little house husband."

Grinning like a lech and waggling her eyebrows, JT thrusts against Jensen's leg. "You know it, baby."

"Gross," Jensen says, which just sends JT into another fit of laughter, and it's ridiculous but her light, airy giggles warm Jensen in ways central heating can't. She can't resist going up on her tiptoes to kiss JT on the lips, because seriously: who laughs at that kind of shit? JT does. JT's a crazy person, but she's _Jensen's_ crazy person, and the day Jensen stops being thankful for that is the day Jensen loses everything.

So she slides her hands up JT's firm torso, slipping under her cashmere sweater and stopping when her palms rest against the bottom of JT's ribcage. JT settles her hands on Jensen's hips, and Jensen shrieks and tries to shake her off. (Tries.)

"Fuck, JT, your hands are cold!"

"So I was thinking," JT says, thumb tracing the contours of Jensen's hipbones like Jensen hadn't mentioned anything, "we should get you a maid's outfit, since you look so good doing housework. One of those really lacy black-and-white numbers, maybe with an apron?"

"Only if you get me frilly red panties," Jensen answers, not pausing to think about what she's agreeing to. 

JT makes a big show of considering her proposition."I think we can arrange that," she says, and slides her hands over the curves of Jensen's hip. It's okay as long as she stays over the fabric of Jensen's clothes, but the minute her fingers slip beneath the waistband of Jensen's panties, Jensen squirms and grabs her by the wrists, pinning them to the door above her head.

That's all it takes for JT's eyes to darken. "Oh, it's _on_ , Ackles," she drawls, slow and threatening. Jensen just shrugs.

"Bring it."

JT leans in and kisses Jensen slow on the lips, cold and a little wet, just distracting enough to give her a second's advantage when she grabs Jensen around the waist and hoists her up on the kitchen counter like she weighs nothing.

"Unfair," Jensen protests, batting her hands away. "Using your freaky mutant height advantage against me."

"Not my height, little girl," JT answers. "Just my strength."

"I'm sorry, did you want to get laid today?" Jensen asks, cocking her head to the side. "Because right now? All signs point to no."

"You're mocking me," JT answers, with supreme confidence, "but your body is saying _yes, oh yes, oh please JT, violate me_." Her voice is all high and breathy, like she gets during sex, which in Jensen's opinion it totally unfair—fighting dirty, and they both know it. Like some twisted muscle memory, though, the tone of her voice makes Jensen wrap her legs around JT's waist and pull her closer, seeking the warmth of her body. JT's all too happy to oblige, nuzzling and biting at Jensen's jaw. Jensen really ought to know better by now, but she's still a little surprised when JT takes advantage of her distraction to grab the dishtowel next to her on the counter; by the time she figures out what's going on JT's bound her wrists with it.

When she finishes Jensen tests the knot cautiously. There's quite a bit of give. "I could get out of this in like half a second if I wanted."

"Ah," JT says, "but you don't want to, because I'll make it worth your while if you just behave like a good girl." She brushes her nose against Jensen's before pressing their foreheads together, and Jensen's struck by how lucky she is to have someone like JT, who'll tease her and torture her and love her all at once.

Her voice softens, sarcasm draining out of her. "I'm not saying I'm going to undo the knots, babe, I'm just saying I can."

"Noted," JT accepts, and the telltale noise of a drawer being opened lets Jensen knows she's still in for a few more surprises, JT groping blindly for something in the drawer just to the right of them.

Jensen narrows her eyes but doesn't move away. "What are you going to do with that?" she asks, watching as JT pulls away, waving a dishtowel like a prize before grabbing it by diagonal corners and flipping it around itself once. JT meets her suspicious eyes with a grin and quickly blindfolds her with it, knotting the terrycloth as tight as she can. Jensen's legs tighten reflexively around JT's waist, but she doesn't struggle. The makeshift blindfold lets in a few slivers of light, but for the most part Jensen's impressed by its efficacy; she wouldn't have expected it to block her vision quite this well. 

Just like every other time JT blindfolds her, the first press of JT's lips against hers is gentle, almost sweet. Jensen expects it, revels in its familiarity because she knows from here on out is going to be nothing but surprises: that's how JT operates. Jensen's never been one for spontaneity, used to hate it until the day JT Padalecki walked into her life and turned it all upside-down and taught her how to love the bomb.

JT's lips drag across Jensen's cheek, surprising her. It's so easy to get lost in her own thoughts with the blindfold on, she needs constant contact to keep her focused. It wasn't always like this: used to be scary, bordering on terrifying, to let JT deprive her of her senses like this, but with time and experience grew trust, and now her thrills come from wondering—the anticipation of what JT's going to get up this time, knowing nothing other than that she'll probably _really_ enjoy it. 

"You look so gorgeous like this, all tied up and waiting for me to have my way with you," JT murmurs, breath hot against Jensen's ear as she yanks Jensen's top over her head and pushes it down her arms until it catches on her bound wrists. "Sitting there patiently, so trusting." JT presses another kiss to her ribs as a diversion for the way she tugs Jensen's ankles apart and backs up. "I'll be right back, babes," she promises, and Jensen knows what part they've reached: the part where she strains to hear any movement JT's making, and JT thwarts her by singing something terrible (yet catchy) at the top of her lungs. True to form, Jensen can't hear much over JT's tone-deaf vocal styling of "Moves Like Jagger," but she _can_ pinpoint that JT's somewhere near the stove and refrigerator. It tells her pretty much nothing, but at least she can say she figured out that much.

Then the singing stops, and Jensen tracks JT's soft footsteps across the kitchen, stopping right in front of her. Something clatters to the counter-top beside her, and JT asks, "Miss me?"

"Thought I was gonna die," Jensen answers wryly.

"Sorry," JT offers, casual as you like, and slides something wet and _cold_ up Jensen's inner thigh. Quite against her will, Jensen yelps; in an effort to regain some of her dignity she kicks ineffectually in the direction she thinks JT's in. Her foot connects, but it doesn't deter JT in the slightest, who just laughs as she slides the ice—because that's what it must be, Jensen can tell by the way it's melting against the heat of her body and leaving slick trails over her skin—up and around the crease of Jensen's thigh, continuing up Jensen's stomach.

Jensen squirms backward, trying to get away, and JT catches her with a bracing arm around her back. "Oh no you don't," she lectures, slipping the ice higher. Jensen's hyper-aware of where the ice is on her body and where it's been; every time JT moves air brushes against the slick lines of water and cools them.

JT's forehead grazes against Jensen's shoulder, then lower, alternately biting and sucking at one nipple while rolling the ice over the other one, and Jensen can't decide which sensation is more intense, more deserving of her attention. Instinct takes over and she tips her head back and leans back on her bound hands, pushing her chest out a little, seeking more contact. But just as she begins to think JT's going to do what she wants, JT's mouth closes over the rapidly melting ice and pushes it upward, dragging it over Jensen's collarbone and exposed neck.

She pulls back abruptly, and Jensen can hear crunching, like she's eating the last little bit of ice. With zero warning JT kisses her, pressing the hand that had been holding the ice flat against Jensen's cunt, and Jensen lets out an incredibly girly noise—even through her panties, JT's hand is cold and wet. But JT's other hand on her back catches her from shifting away, and JT laughs into the kiss.

"You're fucking evil," Jensen mutters against her lips, tilting her head to the side. 

"All I wanted was a hug," JT answers, ducking her head to press a kiss to Jensen's collarbone. Her lips are wet and a little cold, and the kiss lingers like an imprint on Jensen's skin long after JT's mouth moves away. "But nooo, Ice Princess Jensen Ackles had to deny me. I swear, you're like the Heat Miser."

"Ice princess, heat miser," Jensen repeats, biting her lip as JT curls her hand around Jensen's panties and presses two fingers inside of her. "Sounds like I contain multitudes. Want to make up your mind there?"

"Nope," JT replies cheerfully, letting go and taking a step back. Suddenly all of her body heat is gone, and Jensen is keenly aware of the ice-cold water all over her body; her skin feels like it can't decide what temperature to be. Metal clanks against counter-top and Jensen remembers that JT had put something beside her. She has no idea what it is or what to expect, so she squeezes her fingertips together and flexes her toes, mentally bracing herself for what's about to happen.

It doesn't work, because she could never have predicted this: freezing cold metal, blunt and rounded and thick, pressing against her entrance. She yelps a little and instinctively clenches her muscles, but JT just makes a soothing noise and presses harder. Whatever it is slips inside her, ice-cold against her heated flesh, and Jensen's nerves work overtime trying to process the dichotomy. Her body accepts it even as her mind screams _Danger, danger Jensen Ackles_.

At first she can't focus beyond how cold it is, but as JT fucks her with it the metal slowly warms, heading toward a kind of equilibrium with her body heat. Before she knows it Jensen's pressing the flats of her feet against the cabinets and her palms against the counter, pushing back and aware of nothing beyond how _good_ it feels. JT's an expert in how to reduce Jensen to a desperate wreck, and she must have guessed that the temperature would keep Jensen distracted as she worked. Determined not to give in that easily, Jensen instead focuses on the object JT's using: tries to catalogue it, figure out what precisely it is. It's made entirely of metal, smooth and phallic, long but not overly so... some kind of handle, maybe?

Jensen's eyes widen behind the blindfold when she realizes what it is. "Oh my god, JT, we use that to scoop ice cream."

"Technically we use the other end to scoop ice cream. This is just the handle, and it's clean anyway. Chill," JT tells her, and then laughs. "Literally." 

Jensen groans, and it's partly because of the terrible pun and partly because of the sudden visual gets when she feels JT's hair tickling her thigh: she must be on her knees. Jensen wishes she could rip off her blindfold and watch, because JT between her legs is a sight that Jensen will never, ever tire of.

"Besides," JT continues, never faltering in her back-and-forth rhythm, "I'll wash it."

"You always say shit like that," Jensen insists, squirming, "and I always end up doing the dishes. Every night."

"Don't make me gag you, Jenny," JT threatens, fucking into her a little harder. "Because I can and I will." It shuts Jensen up quick, and she's rewarded by JT's lips finding and closing around her clit, sucking and licking as she continues with the maddeningly slow pace of the strangest improvised dildo ever. Humiliatingly enough, Jensen's so close to coming she's _thisclose_ to begging; fleetingly she longs for the threatened gag, but settles instead for biting her lip and trying not to writhe too much.

But JT knows her, knows her body and the way she reacts to stimulus, and speeds up her motions. Jensen's last bit of restraint snaps, and she forces her bound hands up higher than her shoulders want to allow, pressing them against the wall as she arches her body and comes in a wash of relief. JT draws her head back but doesn't remove the handle, fucking Jensen through her orgasm until Jensen whimpers and goes limp.

She hears metal clatter to the floor and then JT's lips are on hers, wet and sloppy and insistent. She tastes like Jensen, and Jensen allows herself a moment's reprieve in the sensation, almost missing the way JT tugs loose that's binding her wrists. It's followed by two small, quick kisses, which is their signal that JT's about to take the blindfold off. Jensen shuts her eyes, knowing how bright the kitchen lights are going to be, just before JT unties the towel.

She waits a second, adjusting, and when she blinks her eyes open JT's grinning at her, mouth wet and red. Jensen rubs at the slightly tender flesh around her wrists, thinks about how the ice cream scoop must have been in the freezer, and realizes something. Her eyes narrow. "You planned this before you went outside," she accuses, but there's no anger in her voice.

JT just shrugs. "Guilty." A wicked gleam enters her eyes. "Why, Jenny? Are you going to punish me for it?"

"Well..." Jensen answers slowly, realizing how the power's just shifted, "you _have_ been awful bad, so if the shoe fits..." She's so focused on feigning nonchalance that she's almost surprised when JT's expression shifts from playful to dead serious half a second before she yanks Jensen forward by the hips, off the counter and onto her toes.

"Bedroom," JT orders, eyes dark with lust. "Now." Her hand tightens around Jensen's wrist, and that just won't do. Jensen twists JT's arm behind her back and faces them in the direction of the bedroom door. She summons her most officious of voices, the one she uses when Deanna needs to get shit done. 

"I'll be giving the orders from here on out, Padalecki. Forward march."


End file.
